A/N: Okay... I am not a
part of the "Scully didn't have any wounds after her encounter
with the Ken dude" club. Because if you punch a hole in a wall
and die as you're punching the hole, it still leaves some damage.
Right? Anyway, there are about 10 episodes that it seems everyone has
to write a post-ep of, and this is my second or third attempt at
Milagro. We'll see how it goes.

She clung to him
tightly until the paramedics came, but even then she wouldn't let his
hand go. The medics took her pulse and checked her other vitals, but
the moment they moved to tend to her injuries, she pulled away.

"Scully,"
Mulder began, in his quiet, just-for-her tone. "They just need
to make sure you're okay."

"No, I'm fine,"
she argued, trying to sit up. "I'm fine."

Mulder gently pushed
her shoulders back down on the couch.

"Just a quick
look, Scully. I'll be right here," he said trying to read her
expression. "Or I can go in the other room if you'd rather."

She was about to
respond when there was a knock on the door.

"Go ahead,"
she whispered. He nodded and went to the door while the EMT's took
care of his partner.

After finding Padgett
dead in the basement, taking a few pictures of the crime scene for
posterity, and getting Mulder's promise that he and Scully would give
their statements later, the police officers left. Mulder returned to
the other room where Scully was arguing with the EMT's.

"I'm a doctor. I
know the risks, and I'll be fine."

"But Miss Scully-"

"I don't need to
go to the hospital."

"She'll be fine,"
Mulder interjected, sensing that Scully was about to go into one of
her famous emotional shut downs.

"Sir, she's got
wounds-"

"And unless she's
still losing blood, which she's not because she's knows better than
that when she's on my couch, she can take care of herself. I will
take her to the hospital if there are any complications."

Knowing that they
weren't going to win an argument with the pair, the EMT's gave them
the necessary paperwork, and left the building.

Scully sat with her
shirt unbuttoned, but tucked around her thin frame.

"Are you really
going to be okay, Scully?"

"It hurts,"
she admitted quietly.

"What can I do for
you?"

"I need to get
cleaned up. And I need to go home. Can... you help me?"

He nodded and sat down
next to her, brushing her matted hair back from her face.

"I'll find you
some more clothes, and you can shower, okay? And then I'll take you
home."

"Thanks."

He stood from the couch
and went into his bedroom, finding an old, shrunken pair of sweats in
the bottom drawer of his dresser. It would probably swallow her, even
in its smaller state. He had been noticing lately how small she
really was. Short, sure, he'd always known that, but during that case
in Arcadia, he's seen her out of the bulky suits and in slightly less
bulky cardigans and semi-casual slacks. And a few weeks after that he
had witnessed a rarity- Scully in jeans and a t-shirt. He could have
put his hands around her waist and had about an inch of finger
overlap. Maybe she was losing weight or maybe he'd just never paid
close enough attention. Or maybe she was losing weight because he'd
never paid close enough attention. He sighed at the thought and
knocked on the bathroom door.

"Scully? I got
some clothes for you. I'll leave them by the sink."

"Okay," she
called back, her voice strained.

"I can run down to
your car and get your overnight bag if there's anything you need in
there-"

"No! I have
everything."

He shut the door and
went into the living room, surveying the mess. He knew he should
clean it up before she saw it, but he just didn't think he could deal
with it right now. He placed a large dishrag over the stain on the
floor and made a mental note to call in a favor to the Lone Gunmen.
They were still sore at him for the way he had treated Scully months
ago, but he was sure that since this involved her, they would be
inclined to help him out. He smirked as he thought of the three
odd-balls, and how their loyalty had flip-flopped almost 180 degrees
from him to Scully in the last few years. She could ask them for
anything and they would do it for her, while he had to scrounge up
tickets to a game, or a couple hundred dollars.

He heard the shower go
off and a few minutes later she joined him on the couch, dressed in
his old sweats. He looked over at her and she met his eyes.

"I want to go
home," she said after a moment of quiet communication.

"Okay. I think
your tennis shoes are still in the bottom of my closet from that
time..." He trailed off and they both let their minds wander to
that Saturday afternoon almost a year ago. A warm spring day had
turned into a rainstorm right in the middle of their 5 mile run. They
had made it back to his apartment, soaking wet and laughing. She
smiled a little as she thought about it, then went into his bedroom
to retrieve the shoes.

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